Karen Rabbitt

Faith Gift

One of the gifts of the Spirit is faith. (1Corinthians 12:9) Twice God has given me that gift. Once was on vacation, when our old Volkswagen bus broke down. As my husband and I stood by the side of road, looking at the sheared-off bolt from the water pump, I felt sure that we would be fine, all would work out, and we’d find what we needed without any trouble. We did not damage the engine further as we drove into the closest town. We found two wonderful mechanics who drilled out the bolt and allowed us to use their facility to finish the repair. We were on our way again in a few hours. They charged us a few dollars and we tipped them $10 for their kindness.

The second time was earlier this month. On the morning of a talk to a mother/daughter group, I woke up with an image of peace and power. I usually feel confident I’ll do an adequate job of speaking. But that morning, I felt more than confident. And it was as I imagined: my delivery was good and the women responded to my words. They discussed the topic and engaged in the exercise. I trust God has used my words to enhance their relationships.

These experiences are different that my usual, “I think it’ll be okay. God is with me. He will help me.” I mean those words, but I don’t always, completely, believe them. In those two times, I just knew. I wasn’t making anything up, and my trust was complete.

How many times I’ve tried to manufacture “faith.” Maybe you know what I mean. Like The Little Engine That Could, I say all kinds of faith-sounding phrases, starting with: I think God can… What a gift to relax in his peace and power. May we all seek him more and more for true gifts of faith. 

Father, increase our desire to receive your gifts. We need your power to spread your peace.   

Against our own Bodies

Today, my computer desktop shows a photo I took of wisteria. The pyramid of purple hangs among the delicate green leaves. At the National Gallery of Art, in Washington, D.C., a wide swath of wisteria intersects the front of the older building that faces the mall. I stood under the massive vines once, bees buzzing, the aroma saturating my nose.

In Charleston, S.C., the trunks of wisteria vines twine around steel fences that front mansions preserved from the 1700s. The vines are so powerful they can twist inch-thick steel. In the South, homeowners often prune wisteria into a shrub, to keep its powerful growth habit in check.   

In the South, many times we’ve seen that growth overtaking an abandoned house and yard. Gray wood siding, covered with green vines. Tall live oaks consumed by Spanish moss and purple blooms. Tendrils hanging from utility lines. Out of control power.

Like an endless wisteria plant, out of bounds s*ex can take over a relationship. The physical intimacy between a husband and a wife creates a bond of beauty and power.  Uncontrolled, though, s*ex consumes rather than enhances a life. Meant to maintain and create, in the wrong context, s*ex can destroy and degrade. Americans live in such a s*ex-saturated culture, we can become immune to the degradation. The passing illicit pleasure deceives. T. Suzanne Eller writes in the current issue of Today’s Christian Woman, of the Rise of Raunch. I’m not easily shocked, but her first anecdote got me. It’s on newsstands now.

Jesus, the bible says, “he who sins s*e*xually, sins against his own body.” (1 Cor. 6:18) Please resensitize us to this truth.  

Know What We Know

Over my computer is a watercolor of the house across the street. My late mother-in-law, Libby, painted it in her old age, from a photo I’d taken one golden fall evening. A flag flutters in the shadows above a picket fence. The white house is trimmed with red striped awnings over two small front windows.

She entered it in a regional amateur art contest. She often won ribbons in these competitions, but this painting was unadorned when we picked it up. We sat down, waiting for the judge, who was giving feedback. When she approached us, Libby asked, “What did you think of my work?”

Sitting down next to us, she studied the canvas. “This line of white is sharp,” she said, pointing to the house’s edge, clearly defined against the darker background.

Libby said, “Of course it’s sharp, it’s the edge of the house.”

She had taken up watercolor after she retired from teaching at 70. She had a library of technique books and logged many class hours. At 80 years old, Libby knew what she knew and recognized nonsense when she heard it.

I often defer to perceived experts. Libby didn’t. She saw the nonsense masquerading as wisdom. Nonsense permeates our society. Young girls exposing their bodies in the name of fashion. Mortgaging our grandchildren’s future in our consumerist culture. Encouraging an “eat, drink, and be merry” ethos in our media. We need, like Libby, to “know what we know” so we can stand against the nonsense.

Father, always, continually, and forever, we need wisdom.

Internal Matters

There’s a new house in the neighborhood. With a one-man construction crew, the progress is slow. Finally, he installed the door and the siding. Two stories, with lots of paned windows and a wide front porch, it is a simple style that fits the modest neighborhood. I do wish, though, the siding and the door were not shades of beige.   

Spoken by someone whose house is gray trimmed with fuchsia. The dull-colored house is several blocks away. Thankfully, I don’t see it often. Does he feel safer with beige? I don’t begrudge him that. I need to feel safe, too. But color enlivens me. And God doesn’t care—he likes us both.

Do you like pastels, or jewel tones? Ruffles or tailored suits? Chains and leather or lace and linen? Our external preferences don’t matter to God; what matters is our inner self. Are our hearts soft, our eyes clear, our minds the mind of Christ? Does God even see the beige or the fuchsia?

When the prophet Samuel went to see Jesse to anoint the next king of Israel, the prophet sees Jesse’s son, Eliab, a man of impressive appearance and height. But he is not the one. God says to Samuel, “People look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” (I Samuel, 16:7, Net)

This neighbor has a beige house—that’s all I know, and truthfully, all I care about. God knows the color of the man’s home; but God’s focus is the man’s heart.   

Father, I confess my preoccupation with externals. I need your forgiveness. Thank you that you deal with truth in our innermost parts.